Quiet Frost
by lanuminga
Summary: One-Shot. A year following the events of the film, Jack learns about another kind of darkness a Guardian faces while protecting the children - a darkness he can't fight with strength and blasts of ice. No pairing. This author does not own these characters and would like to add an advisory for those sensitive to subjects concerning death: tread carefully.


A/N: Characters belong to Dreamworks. Con/crit/reviews welcome, of course. Song lyrics written by and property of Nichole Nordeman. "Every Season" is the name if you'd like to look it up. I'm having a little trouble separating the little sections in here, sorry if they run together.

* * *

At the height of winter, she began to show up at his pond, the ice thick enough to hold human weight. She sits on a rock to lace up her skates and she's off, a dancer waltzing on blades and ice. Her coat is old and dingy, her scarf tattered. From a tree he watches, her hair sailing in the gentle breeze of momentum, bright, bright hair. A smile betrays joy; ease and grace upon the ice betrays true love.

It's times like these he savors quietly, letting her be. He could join her if he liked, but there's no room for another in her blissful world of ice and whirling, effortless skating. She always comes at night, as though the routines and expectations of daytime would not permit it, and only when the Moon is brightest.

The Man in the Moon is still and quiet, and for the first time in three centuries Jack is content with that. The events of the past winter that made him, in more ways than one, a Guardian made him content with the Man in the Moon's frequent silence. Some things were deeper than words anyway. Like her, when the Moon is setting. Her face falls, her posture slumps, the brightness of joy leaves her face. She changes from her skates to her shoes and leaves. Silent and still as the Moon, quietly following through with an inevitable task. She must always return.

Sometimes in town, he sees her, especially now that he's a little curious, watching for her, and finds the girl in daylight different from the girl in moonlight. In the sunlight she seems older, frailer, heavier with fatigue. She speaks with few and rarely for a reason different from necessity. No gift has he for it, but she could be anywhere from sixteen by night to twenty-four by day.

She visits every night the moon shines bright and leaves before its rays fall behind shadow. When the ice melts and Jack turns his efforts to the other hemisphere, he goes back every now and then to his home. By night she still comes, sitting on rocks under an umbrella in spring rain, swimming in the heat of summer, collecting leaves in a small book in autumn.

It's September when he visits Toothiana. She hugs him while her fairies sigh and flutter, and takes him to the little glade far below, where the mural is painted on the cliff face and trees drink in warm sunlight, and for a while they talk about nothing at all. Bicuspits here, fingerpaintings on frosted window panes, the shapes of clouds, the others. Bunny, North, and Sandy. The Man in the Moon. Leprechaun mischief spread with laughter down the grapevine. A reassuring statement that the Pashas and Nightmares have been acting on a minor scale - a nightmare here and there to maintain the balance.

"It's one thing to learn about fear and overcome it," Tooth says. "It's another to forget to be afraid altogether."

"Perhaps in some small way we still need him," Jack muses quietly.

She smiles and nods. "It is better to not be believed in than to be Forgotten."

"That's not saying much," Jack says. "But you're right."

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"...Just a moment?"

Confused at first he realizes what she means and smiles resignation. "I guess?" He says, and opens his mouth. After a few terminology-laden moments, she releases him.

"You do have beautiful teeth," she says.

He never quite knows what to say to that. "Thanks," is all he ever manages. She doesn't ask it often - not as much as she used to, anyway.

"How is Home?"

He leans back against the tree and watches the palace she guards glimmer in the sunlight with the busyness of her flitting, flying, energetic fairies. "Warm, at the moment."

"I mean while you're there. Do you still see Jamie?"

Jack laughs. "All the time! He's great, he's a great kid."

She nods. "You're lucky, you know."

"Hey you can come by anytime you like, you know. Bunny does sometimes. And North."

She grins. "I might take you up on that! I've been thinking about helping out again."

"Favorite part?"

"Favorite part!"

He grins with her and they settle into silence for a time.

"Tooth?"

"Hmm?"

"What happens when they grow up?"

Her wings flutter a little. "Well, they get taller and stronger, and they change a little." He levels a dry look at her and she laughs. "I know what you meant." Her voice softens. "You've seen three hundred years of kids already Jack. Why do you have questions now?"

Considering this, he bites his lip. "I was just... curious. Being a Guardian now and everything. They can see me, they know me, they know my name. It's different now. I just wanted to know if growing up meant something different."

"Well," she says softly. "It gets harder. As long as there are children in the world, there will always be lights of belief, stories told, dreams shared. The part of them that remembers us gets a little smaller, isn't so bright. And eventually that small glow serves as a spark in a child - their own child, a student, a family member, a kid they babysit, anything. Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes they forget everything. The hardest part though, Jack, is when they lose their spark completely. Sometimes they learn to resent us."

"Why?"

She seems smaller now, and he doesn't blame her for drawing her legs up close, balling up. It's terrible to imagine Jamie or Cupcake or Sophie or any of the others losing that sense of wonder.

"Sometimes they're taught it's weak to believe in those things. Childish, juvenile, immature. Sometimes when they believe as adults with the certainty they had as children they suffer backlash. They are laughed at, degraded, left out, patronized."

A memory chimes in Jack's mind - a girl, without her skates like a fairy without wings, dejected, tired, old. "When does it start?"

"Usually no sooner than their teenage years. Sometimes sooner. Sometimes later, it's all circumstantial."

"Can it be stopped?"

She frowns at him. "Are you asking about Jamie?"

Jack shakes his head, dropping his gaze for that moment. When he looks up again, he looks tired. "No. I think Jamie will be all right for a very long time. Sophie too. Cupcake will probably be all right forever. I'm asking about someone else, someone whose..." He pauses. "Someone whose name I don't even know. She's just this girl. During every full moon she comes to skate on my pond in the middle of the night, and she looks so happy, like she's flying through heaven or something. But by day you'd never see the same person in her. She looks so much older and unhappy."

Tooth bites her lip.

"Can anything be done for them?"

She looks apprehensive, but she offers her hand. "Fly with me; show me."

After some hunting, and a lot of rapid chatter from Tooth while she thinks to herself, searching for a child of the description Jack offers, they find her box. With Jack looking over her shoulder, she opens it gently. Not his own memories to be seen, the memories contained inside are visible only to Tooth. What she sees lasts not even a minute, but it leaves her sad and still. She shelves the box. "It is as I thought," she says softly. "Jack, you have to let her be."

"Are we not Guardians?"

Her expression does not alter from sorrow. "We are, Jack. But when they grow up, they learn that believing in us won't sustain them. They learn to believe in themselves, and they don't need us anymore."

"Then why is she still sad?"

"Because the world of adulthood can be a very, very cruel place, Jack. You have to understand where our role ends. We can't sustain them past a certain point because their needs are greater than our capacity to provide."

"Then why does she come to my pond, Tooth? Everyone there knows me still!"

Tooth smiles sadly. "Because it makes her happy, Jack. We'll help her if we can; holding a child's memories gives us a little sway over their happiness as adults. We'll do our absolute best for her, as we do with any of them. Promise me something though."

"What?"

"Promise you'll be thinking about the day she stops coming. Promise me you'll let her grow up and move on, despite the darkness she'll have to face."

"No."

"Jack," she says, fluttering closer and holding his face between her colorful hands. "Do you know why the Map North has only shows us the lights of children?"

He shakes his head a little.

"Because they are the lights that need us to do what we do so they can stay bright. It doesn't show us the adults because when children grow up, they become responsible for their own light. Some of them are very good at it, some of them are awful at it. But it's their privilege to keep trying themselves, because we've shown them how wonderous and full of growth and fun and mischief and laughter-" she pokes him in the chest with a smile so wide she's almost laughing "-life can be. Then we let them try to fly along that same path. What would believing in all of us achieve if they couldn't use that to learn to believe in themselves?"

The only response he can manage is a sad look and a deep sigh. "I envy you and Sandy," he says softly. "Able to stay with them their whole lives."

"Just because they stop seeing you doesn't mean they've forgotten you," Tooth says with a little smile. "You are Jack Frost, and I promise you, when the wind blows cold and the snow falls in bright moonlight in the quiet depth of winter, when frost makes its patterns on glass and stone alike, with every crunching footfall in a blanket of snow and every scrape of skates on ice, Jack, I promise you, they'll remember. They'll remember perhaps not you exactly - they'll remember something better. They'll remember the joy you brought them, the happiness of a snow day and that feeling like flying while laughing during a snowball fight. You'll be with them, like you showed Jamie-" she presses a finger to his chest. "Here. I know you'd face the darkness for them a hundred times if it meant they were safe. Growing up means they get to feel that way about precious things, too. Children, creativity, dreams, memories."

"So what do I do?"

"What you always do, Jack," she says, pulling him by the arm back out of the palace and into the sun, speaking as they glide along. "When you see things start to get dim and scary, you remember to have fun. And it is your duty as a Guardian to make sure she knows what you can teach her. Especially when she walks right into your headquarters!"

He laughs with her, still solemn and worried for her, but less so. "Thanks Tooth."

She kisses his cheek. "You're always welcome, Jack." She hugs him tightly and withdraws, wings fluttering. "I have to go. Are you going to be all right?"

"I'll let you know if I'm not," he replies. Satisfied, she waves and zips off. Jack walks for a while, stops and greets Baby Tooth. The day is drawing to a close by the time he leaves. He's still worried, but he feels lighter and flies home laughing, still capable of endless joy in what's around him without even knowing it. It's still early in the year, but by the time he gets home, he's got a plan.

* * *

The next morning, Jamie leaves his house for school and walks happily across his yard, enjoying the sound of frost crunching beneath his shoes. "Welcome home, Jack," he says, grinning at the innocuous white-haired boy leaning against a lamppost nearby, hood up and staff resting against one shoulder.

"Thanks Jamie," he says when the boy comes over. "How've you been?"

"School," the boy says with distaste and pulls a face that makes Jack laugh.

"Chin up," Jack says. "I feel like this is going to be an early winter."

"Yeah!" Jamie grins and waves. "I have to get to school. I'll see you later, Jack!"

"See you!" Jack says, and waves back as the boy heads off down the street.

* * *

"And everything in time and under heaven..."

That night, the moon is full.

"Finally falls asleep..."

Jack finds her again, her back to the pond and resting against a tree, singing.

"Wrapped in blankets white, all creation..."

Instead of watching from tree branches, he steps closer, listening, looking, ever-curious.

"Shivers underneath."

Her voice is lovely, but still sad.

"And still I notice you..."

She begins to turn, and he pauses. She's turning in his direction and he's not hidden behind rock or tree.

"When branches crack, and in my breath on frosted glass..."

Seeing her face, he realizes with a flood of panic that something is wrong, very, very wrong.

"Even now in death, you open doors for life to enter..."

She falls to her knees, and there are tears on her face.

"You are winter."

She holds the note and falls silent, posture dejected and figure seeming so frail, crumpled in the frosted grass. The night is already bitter cold, courtesy of himself, and she's not wearing her usual coat or mittens, her scarf is gone and her skates aren't there, but the pond's not frozen yet. She's just wearing her nightgown. His throat falls into his stomach when he sees her hands, fingertips so rosy red. She's cold. And she's watching him, silent, the despair from the daylight present now in full moonlight.

He draws closer and she doesn't move, so he kneels with her and takes her cold hands in his. "What's your name?"

"Daphne," she says softly. "You're him, aren't you? Jack Frost?"

Trying for a smile, he nods. "That's me. And you are Daphne. You skate on the pond at night during winter, read books on a bed of autumn leaves, swim in the summer time. But..."

Her face, bright with recognition of him, darkens a little. "You saw me in town."

He nods.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?"

Her face scrunches up. "Jamie says you fought for all of us, that you protect all the children."

"You believe him," he says.

"Yes," she replies, and Jack smiles.

"Thank you. But I don't understand, why are you sorry?"

"Because I'm sad, sad all the time and I don't want anyone else to feel sad like this. And I think that you and the others, they would."

"Of course we would."

"That's why I'm sorry," she says, and Jack recalls what Tooth said, about them feeling the same way about precious things as Guardians do about the children they protect.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," he says. "You wanted to protect me, and I'm grateful to you for it. You know that your sadness is our sadness, but do you know why that's special?"

"No," she says, and her confusion is genuine. Tears are still sliding down her cheeks, and she's getting a little jumpy, like she doesn't know where she is. There's not much time.

"It's special - no Daphne, please look at me - it's special because it means you're never alone. Especially not now."

"Now is too late," she says, and starts to sob, reddened hands coming up to her face. She sees them and wails and cries into them anyway.

Jack moves, sitting down behind her and pulling her back up against his chest, pulling her hands away from her face. It's red now too, her eyes puffy with tears. "Daphne, shhh. It's all right. It's never too late."

"Do you not understand?!" She demands, hysterical in her tears.

"I do understand," he says gently, and hugs her close. "I understand completely. That's why we're going to play a game. It'll be fun, all right? I'll tell you a story, and you guess who I sound like."

The first one is simple, full of color and hunts in warm spring weather and lots of bouncing. It's little more than a dressed up riddle, but she laughs when he refers to a certain someone as a kangaroo. "It sounds like Easter."

"You've almost got it," he says.

"The Easter Bunny?"

"Yes!" He laughs and she smiles at the little victory, still leaning back against him. "The next one will be a little tougher. Who is like a hummingbird, but brighter, and faster? Who is colored like the most radiant peacock yet never pretentious? Who is a fairy that boys believe in as much as girls? Who gives more than she takes?"

"The Tooth Fairy!"

"That's it!" He grins, and she shivers, her eyes fluttering as she tries to keep them open.

"Jack, I'm really sleepy."

"I know. One more and we'll call it a night."

"Okay. Make it an easy one, okay?"

He nods, and describes twelve beasts of burden that wear coat racks for hats and pull and pull and pull. Describes a vehicle everyone loves, a large bag full of wonder and joy, and a man of similar description. "An old man as energetic as a young one, a skillful artist and a fierce, protective soul whose whole life revolves around one day a year."

"Santa Clause," she says softly, her face tilting so her cheek rests against his chest, just below the collarbone.

"I believe in you," he says softly. "You know that, right, Daphne?"

She doesn't respond, and is quite still. He shakes her a few times, and to no avail. Through tears, he notices again her hands and holds her close, though she is as cold as he, and so still.

When the adults come looking for her in the morning, they don't see him holding her as she is, stiff and heavy. They roll her over, take note of the red on her face and hands, of the slim gashes below each palm on her wrists, and even now, in small gestures and cold examination, they are mourning. Jack stays, rising to leave the tree when they start shifting about, but doesn't leave the area. Watches until long after they are gone.

_...And even now in death you open doors for life to enter..._

When it comes, it hits hard and fast and hurts so thoroughly he slams a fist into a tree and sends bright sparks of ice flying like shattered glass.

He falls to his knees and cries, her song adrift through his head, Tooth's warning that there will come a day when she stops coming and has to move on underscores it.

_...You are winter..._

It's hardly any time at all before a funeral is held. It's cold again that day, and Jack is there as solemn as the rest of them; he's got it snowing lightly all around them. Some of the adults are shaking their heads in sadness, as if in disappointment. A few of them realize she loved the snow and winter, and Jamie is there, quiet and sad. Their town is not a large one - everyone that knows him is there. The ceremony is heartbreaking, and Jack stands in the back. He learned long ago that one life - just one - is worth everything. He began with Emma, but there was nothing he could do for Daphne. The pain is splitting and sharp. There is no joy here.

When they lower her into the ground, words are said, gentle and comforting words as her elaborate box slips slowly out of sight. The crowd remains, flowers falling from black-clad hands into the pit. A man is singing a slow, steady song. And for a few verses, Jack is deaf to it, overcome by that final severance, that panic that comes of watching someone you knew lived and breathed be shut in a box and covered shovel by shovel with dirt. Forever.

"...to enter. You are winter..."

Reverie shattered, Jack's head jerks up and his eyes find the man singing beside the grave.

"...And everything that's new has bravely surfaced... teaching us to breathe. What was frozen through... is newly purposed, turning all things green. So it is with you, and how you make me new... with every season's change. And so it will be... As you are recreating me... Summer... Autumn... Winter..."

Jack's breath catches.

"...Spring."

Finding he can no longer remain, Jack takes to the sky fast, uncertain of where he's going or whether he cares, caught up in his own hurt and the replay of memories in his mind.

Just one life.

When he's present again, he's on a floor surrounded by ice - no, glass - shattered all around him. Something hurts, and he can't tell if it's mortal pain or immortal ache for the price of mortality. Strong hands pull him up and dust him off, and but the voice that's calling him is distant, concerned but so far away.

* * *

Lucidity comes again later, fully this time. No memory of how he got to be in a large, cozy armchair, wrapped absurdly in a blanket and holding a mug of cocoa and within arm's reach of a huge plate of cookies.

"I didn't know what else to do," the man seated in a similar armchair across from him says, shrugging. "Are you all right, Jack? You came through window."

Shaking his head, he explains.

North shudders, pulls off his hat and holds it to his chest. He closes his eyes and murmurs something softly, then replaces his hat. Rising, he braces his hands on the armrests of Jack's chair, leaning in frighteningly close. "What about you, Jack? Will you be all right?"

He nods. "I think so."

"That is good. Death cannot be changed."

"I know that."

"Knowing is only here," North says simply, gesturing to his head. "Not here." He gestures now to his own heart. "Death cannot be changed. Only life can. But if you know where to look," North says, stepping closer. "You will see that even good things can come after death," he tips Jack's chin upward with one large finger. "Wouldn't you agree?" North lets the silence fall between them, and Jack knows exactly what he means.

We were all human once, until the Man in the Moon chose us.

"Let her go, Jack, but do not forget her. Do not forget any of them." He holds up his arms gleefully. "Naughty or Nice!"

Jack nods and when he returns home, he visits her grave, leaving a little pattern of frost on the stone, in the corners so her name is still visible. The inscription reads her name and birth date and death date and, "She for whom life was brief and death too soon." It sounds a little cold to him, and he flies barefoot on the winter wind. But he's only here for her. Not to make a speech or vocalize how sore he is now, but to sit and remember her fondly for a while, remember those private moments of joy she spent skating and swimming and reading and playing in the snow.

When Spring comes, Jack leaves for the other hemisphere. In his wake, he leaves a pair of ice-carved ice skates next to her marker. Leaves them to melt in the warmth of spring and summer, and doesn't look back.


End file.
